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rachealfst:
Oyinprince : i would love you to meet Gentle and Slimmy from New creation

Hehe... If anyone has to meet those guys, it has to be Donkross1 , he does the killing

I grew up on the bank of the Niger, where I could eat all types of fishes and play in the swamps that adorned the lands. The Igalas, those whom I dwelled among and ate with taught me the ethics of life. I lived there with my pa, a cleric who was quick to establish himself among them, and his wife. Originally, we were of Oyo descent and only moved there when I was four. My maa died during child labour two rainy seasons later. I had come to love the tongue of the Igala women, their height and well cultured gait; and the beauty of their buttocks as they wiggled when their robes danced on them. My pa remarried when I turned 10. The maiden's name was Iyere.

Growing up, I had a passion for writing, a fire that burnt with a mild glow. It crept in my heart and listened to my thoughts, and then it consumed me. It all started a night that I accidentally saw pa and Iyere make love. His turban was casted aside and it laid carelessly on the floor, while his beards sweated and burn. The image was etched on my mind and no matter how I tried, it couldn't be wiped off. It had to come out, be told even if there wasn't any reader that would read. So, that night, when I was 15, I sat in my room, creating a fortress with my papers and pens, and bled away. I tore a lot of papers and threw them into the gutters after I had cramped them completely. By 12 in the morning, I finally wrote something I respected; something that portrayed the glistening desires in my head.

By 19, I had completed a story - one about a lawyer and was themed on betrayal. At nights, I would tell it, by chapters, to a sizeable audience, most of which were students of my pa's training institutes, that thronged around me. One of the listeners took to me and I soon found I liked him. We reasoned alike and as time went on, we became good friends. I let him into my room often and we discussed the women of the clan, their backsides and their fair skins. Then, one day, he happened on my first attempt at writing and after holding the old paper for long minutes, his eyes held a twinkle that I thought showed his thoughts.

Iyere, who was 15 when pa married her, was then a very beautiful and lovely woman. Her buttocks enticed me and my fondness for her soared in a thousand folds. I longed to see if maybe her buttocks were fair, just how her skin was. And, soon, Hakeem, my good friend, pledged to help me. The opportunity came on a hot, sunny, ripe afternoon.

Pa was weak and fragile and he had been hospitalized days before. Sneakily, I got into Iyere's room and overpowered her while Hakeem kept watch. I was scared but reckless, a sense of déjà vu from the first night clouded my senses. My loin devoured her moistness and my head exploded in amazing shades of ecstasy. I grunted, satisfied.

Three nights later, pa returned and Hakeem left my side. He assumed a stooling position in pa's front a day later and he told him a story. Later that day, the chief who was friends with pa sent his guards to bring me. Out of choice, my legs went with them while my heart prayed it wasn't what I had thought. The chief questioned me and he listened to my fabricated lies. He sighed and disappointment invaded his face; as plastered as white on rice.

Hakeem testified against me, with a brazenness that surprised me. He described and spoke with a powerful conviction, tears filled my eyes. Then, Iyere's body was brought in, numb and cold - she had taken a route preferable to shame. I sat on the bare floor and cried.

The women of the clan demanded that I be locked up and the chief could only oblige their request. After three nights in my cell, Hakeem visited, he looked gloomy, sad.

'Abdul, do you remember the story you used to tell? Of a wronged lawyer and his family?' He asked, his voice sounded on the edge, like a day that was breaking.

I battled my eyelids and kept sitting, motionless. Then, he continued, 'You made Hakeem betray Edwin. You made me become a traitor, it was a turn I never expected.' He grimaced bitterly. 'I never even liked Aduke, how could I have let Edwin rot in jail for her? I hope you feel bad as I do now.' He made his exit, never to be seen, to be wiped from the memories of others but not his creator's. Typical of the Hakeem in my story: direct, murderous and sore.

I was stunned into silence. The cold in the room doubled while the quiet pierced me. Realization was drawn on my face. I didn't love Iyere, but here I was.

Oyinprince:

Hehe... If anyone has to meet those guys, it has to be Donkross1 , he does the killing

You, you lie

[img]https://4.bp..com/-E-swFj9uakQ/WKSEyzuTXjI/AAAAAAAAALg/bbtuFHIs-z4mhhexgSTUflNjDHrCK-CggCLcB/s1600/editing.jpg[/img]
Many readers notice character and plot development in every story. However, editing ranks as an equally important aspect of the writing process worth mentioning. Some of you may be rolling your eyes. Why harp on about editing?

Because it matters.

Over the past few years, I’ve read quite a few self-published books. Most of the books have been wonderful and I thoroughly enjoyed them. Yet some have been painful to read. Others have been good, but could have been great with the assistance of an experienced editor. Too many self-published authors don’t think readers can tell if their novel hasn’t been professionally edited. Trust me, most of us can. As for authors who skip utilizing beta readers and critique partners, that shows as well.

Click here for a professional editor www.blacktowerpublishers.com.ng
I’m not just talking about typos. Many readers will forgive one or two, and these errors do happen in books that are traditionally published. Editors do so much more than proofreading. Developmental editors assist with the story and its execution. This process may involve a massive rewrite, but from my experience, it’s well worth it. My developmental editor has suggested some major changes, including reworking the ending of my first novel. I followed her advice after pouting for a day and you know what? She was right. It’s a much better story now.

Another type is substantive editing, which involves the larger aspects of the novel such as character development, plot holes, unresolved threads, pacing, etc. Yet another form of editing involves copyediting which makes sure you don’t change your character’s name or hair color. Copyeditors also fix grammar and punctuation, as well as assist in fact-checking and identifying potential legal issues. There are even more kinds of editors and some overlap occurs.

Please be wary of editors who say they can offer several different types of editing with one reading. You really will get what you pay for. I’m not saying you have to hire five different editors, but make sure you check your editor’s credentials. Who have they worked with? Do they offer a sample? Most will do this for free. What type of editing experience do they have? Do your research to save yourself from losing money. Also, take the time to recognize the parts of the writing process you need the most help with.

When I hear of self-published authors who admit they didn’t work with a professional editor I cringe. Not only is the author publishing something that isn’t the best that it can be, but the person is denying themselves the opportunity to learn and grow as a writer.

If you want to improve your writing, work with experienced editors. It’ll change how you think about editing and it will make you appreciate all that they have to offer.
Your readers will thank you for it.

Click here for a professional editor www.blacktowerpublishers.com.ng

The south western wind blew calmly occassionally blowing down drizzles from the soaked canopy of trees so that one may think it is a mini rain. This was after a heavy downpour. The sky, starless and the ground wet and slippery. I held a torchlight on my lefthand to aid in navigating my way through the bush track while a file was in my right hand. The community teachers' conference ended late. I felt a pang of hunger as my stomach grumbled but I trudged on hoping to get home soon. Aha! I recalled, I instinctively felt my left pocket but in it was the three pronged cane made from animal hide. Perhaps to keep naughty children at bay, but that was not what I was looking for. I felt the right pocked and in it was the 18cl unlabeled transparent square bottle. I opened it and took a heavy gulp. I felt a little warm and lighter. I heard the creaking of crikets and the croaking of toads which dominated the entire sound of the forest but there was this odd sound, I'm certain it is not the nocturnal sound of bats or is it the effect of the spirit taking its toll on me? This sound was becoming clearer and I stopped abruptly, then I heard it clearly, few feet behind me, I turned and shone the already dimmed torchlight to the direction. It was the sobbing of a little boy. He sat in a face down position on a rock. I felt my three pronged koboko once again, these mischivious kids must be up to something. "Hey kid, what are you doing here in the middle of the night, run along" I barked "Do you remember me" He stuttered in between sobs "How can I recognize you when I have not seen your face" I replied, anger giving way to uncertainty as I drew closer to him. "Oh, how you forget, so this is your plan, to make me suffer, to live in pain, to be stigmatized" Uncertainty gave way for confusion. "Where, how manage, who did. . .when?" I asked a thousand questions. "Did you remember Kamara, who was raped, how she got pregenant but refused to abort it due to social and religious pressure. Did you remember how she gave birth but lost her life in the process. So you have forgotten that the child she begat was deformed and luckily an international NGO promised to undertake a surgery on him abroad." I stood transfixed, my mouth agape. Of course I remembered "My creator, It's been 9 years, you wrote about moral dilemma, about the law and religion but you cannot complete the novel. Please go and complete the novel, you stopped when I was born, you should continue where I had the surgery on my face and the sequel when I had my revenge by when I was grown" I recalled all what he said, "But you exist only in my imagination, you are not real, what surgery are you talking of, let me see your face" I insisted. He slowly raised his face "He has a single bulging eye on his forehead, his elongated mouth was unable to hide the sharp yellow canine dripping with a mixture of blood and saliva and the other features were just folds of slimy flesh" That was exactly how I described the new born baby in the novel. He stood up and took a step towards me displaying long claws on both hands "Go and complete the novel NOW or face the wrath of your creation." he growled in a muffeled bass voice I felt the hair at the back of my neck rose My head swelled as the torch fell from my hand. I ran blindly through the swampy forest, occassionally falling and rising till I saw a ray of light. I rushed to the direction of the light and alas, it was one of the vigilante. I took a deep breath of relief as he hollared at me "Teacher Dimkpa, what is chasing you, you look lost" "Ah, I, I, saw a monster", I managed to reply panting. "Does it look like this?" He raised the hurricane lamp to his face. He has a single bulging eye on his forehead, his elongated mouth was unable to hide the sharp yellow canine dripping with a mixture of blood and saliva and the other features were just folds of slimy flesh" That was when I had my heart attack

JeffreyJamez:


Indeed it is.....Which one you want meet?..Make I conjure am come based on Oracle things



Royver!!! Come and do your in o!!



Prettyspicey you too!


AudreyTimms ma bo bi bayi o!


Safarigirl bia ne ba o

Repogirl...Oya come and do your own.

It was another bright and sunny afternoon here on the streets of Ilorin.

I heard people at the office were beginning to complain about my late-coming, so I decided to pull a fast one and surprise the staff by arriving early at work today.

Donning a bright blue striped Long-sleeved shirt and black stock trousers, I heaved my backpack over my shoulders and hailed a Keke-na-pep down to the office, ignoring the Nissan Xterra parked and ready beside the house.

It had been five years and I still hated driving.

I ignored a lot of things in this realm; like the keke-driver currently driving me down to my destination with a barrage of cigarette sticks and empty beer bottles wrapped in chains around him. I said hello to the security man, ignoring his son who stood forlornly beside him, unable to move on to the land of the dead because his father still mourned him after so many years. The cheerful fat nurse who usually handed the patients' cards over to me waddled into my office with a grin and a flirty wink. I knew she fancied me (or at least who she thought I was) and I am quite sure I would have taken a deeper liking to her too if all five of her aborted kids weren't always distracting me, twittering around her like little chicks following a fat plumpy mother hen. I knew she had caged herself into thinking her abortions were the reason for her not getting pregnant again even though the key to the cage dangled ever present just above her head.

The patients with the broken wings and those whose gifts had been stolen, greed demons sitting atop the heads of men of authority and the dark blinding cloud of pride enveloping the learned specialists and preventing them from seeing any other viewpoint apart from their own. I see, and ignore them all.

It's been five years. I have gotten used to it.

As another day came to an end and the thick blanket of night fell on everything physically percievable, I retired back to my home, tired, fatigued, and hungry for a good meal. I walked into the kitchen and prepared indomie with green and red peppers, chick peas and salmon chunks. I dropped the delicious dish on the table and went to have a quick shower as it cooled off, my stomach already grumbling impatiently. I had lived alone in this house for five years.

Imagine my shock when i came out of the bathroom and saw a complete stranger in tattered clothes chowing down my meal like a hungry lion.

Imagine my greater shock when I recognised the complete stranger was...Me!

"How...what...how did..." I stammered

He looked up at me suddenly, my alter-self, and I could see the urgency in his eyes.

"She opened a portal. Quick! Our time is short!"

"It's you...It IS you!" I screamed happily and rushed forward to hug him. But he remembered the rules better than I did and quickly backed away.

"Idiot! We musn't touch! Not yet! The Witch...she opened a portal. You must switch places with me again!"

"I, I dont think it's that easy!" I quipped, half overjoyed at seeing him once more and half alarmed at the urgency of the situation.

"Easy? Easy?" And then he grined for the first time and I saw the twinkle in his eyes. "What could be more difficult than pretending to be me for the past five years? what could be more difficult than convincing people that you were a real-life doctor instead of Chukwudi, the fictional character I created five years ago? If you could do that successfully, then you can do this!"

I saw the strength in his eyes and the determination in his voice. and far off in the deepest recesses of my brain Chukwudi the stronger sang with glee "We going home,brother! We going home!"

There was a crackle in the air and I knew it was now or never. I rushed to the locker behind the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a signet ring that I had kept there five years ago. I put it on and rushed back to the parlour. The air was thick now with static power, fizzling and crackling in the small apartment. Bright flashes of light emanated from a sliver of reality as the door to the other realm slid open.

He was on his feet, a harsh wind from nowhere blowing against his face, water drenching his tattered clothes although my living room remained dry. It was raining on the other side. He saw the signet ring and his face lit up with hope.

"At Last! Are you ready?" He called out, his voice barely audible above the crackling and humming.

I thought about it for a moment. Living on this side of reality was interesting and all, but in the end, there was no place like home. I looked at him, winked and stretched out my hand. He grinned and did the same, grasping my hand in his. Immediately we touched the rain came pouring down on me. The towel I still wore around my waist quickly became soaked and thunder and lightening blasted around me, almost deafening me, making me cringe. I felt a sudden transformation as his tattered clothes appeared on me and my towel found its way around his waist.

"Give me an awesome adventure this time!" I yelled with a grin and saw him shake his head as the signet ring appeared on his finger.

"Haven't you had enough adventures to last you a lifetime?" He shouted over the din.

"One more! Make it Epic!" I laughed.

He laughed too and there was a deafening crash of thunder and a blinding flash of lightening. And then all was normal in the house again.

*************************************************************************************************************************

I ran to the mirror and looked at my disheveled reflection. A scar ran down my left thigh and there was a burn mark on my right arm. But I wasn't worried about that. I laughed and then cried and then laughed some more. I was back in the real world where I belonged.

It had been a long five years pretending to be Royver.

This is really nice,why I'm just seeing it now I wonder!

I was already tired and cranky when the doorbell rang. How long did it take to deliver a lost bag for goodness sake?,how did the officials at the airport misplace it in the first place?
'yes who is it?'
'Omega Couriers' came the reply. Thank goodness! I opened the door and was quite shocked to see someone so beautiful,model thin,fair and tall look so good in an orange vest and blue jeans.
'If you would sign this please Ma' she gave me a file. I was mindlessly signing,wondering why this job for such a pretty girl when I heard a click. I looked up to see the revolver and I froze.
'Hello there!' her icy eyes stared into mine 'Obviously you don't remember me so I'll go straight to the point. I'm Daisy from your story. Now don't panic,you're just going to sit down,pick up your pen and re-write Daisy's Penance'.
My heart was pounding furiously,I couldn't move.
'do you need me to say it again? She asked,smiling innocently. My heart gave out before I heard the loud boom! Everything went black.


....continues below

I woke up dazed.... 'oh my God! It was just a dream' I said aloud,clutching my chest.
'No honey it wasn't, I'm still here' O God! she was at the other side of the room,revolver still in hand. Hot tears flowed from my eyes, God help me please!
'I made dinner' she said 'spaghetti and fillets,mmmm my favourite.
I became dizzy again and blacked out.

Missnande:
I woke up dazed.... 'oh my God! It was just a dream' I said aloud,clutching my chest.
'No honey it wasn't, I'm still here' O God! she was at the other side of the room,revolver still in hand. Hot tears flowed from my eyes, God help me please!
'I made dinner' she said 'spaghetti and fillets,mmmm my favourite.
I became dizzy again and blacked out.



I have refused to wake up since!

Your saviour is coming

Divepen1:

Your saviour is coming

LOL